


Try to Love the Things You Took

by handschuhmaus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: As a memorable past brief acquaintance of Illya's, Charming old people to add to Napoleon's recipe file, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Knitwear, Multi, Napoleon cooking, Sweaters, playing with language(s), scnr the Villnius Schoolmaster gets a sentence cameo, the act of charming that is: the old people aren't going into the file
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7718683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(<em>and then you take that love you made, stick it into some-someone else's heart, pumping someone else's blood/and walking arm in arm, you hope it don't get harmed. </em></p><p><em>but even if it does, you'll just do it all again.</em>)</p><p>Some anecdotes from the story of the team from U.N.C.L.E. and how they bonded after that first mission.</p><p>  <em>Title and song lyrics above cribbed from Regina Spektor's "On the Radio"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Try to Love the Things You Took

**Author's Note:**

> I just watched The Man from U.N.C.L.E. recently and, well, instant OT3! So have some ridiculous fluff about our favorite international secret agent trio doing various things together. (Even occasionally including Waverly.

The sweaters started on a layover in Ireland. The day before, Illya's turtleneck caught on fire and though he fortunately had mostly escaped harm, incurring only a minor burn the size of a postage stamp, the garment was unlikely to be salvageable. True, it was wool, naturally flame retardant, but that was little help when the sleeve and half the front had been thoroughly spattered with gasoline. 

Today, Gaby strayed into a shop and did not emerge for half an hour.

When she returned, she had a couple of tools of some sort--Illya, peering at them, figured they were a couple of odd-sized wrenches and some sort of extension--, a small box to which she clutched a spool of thread, and a bulky paper wrapped bundle that she casually tossed at him.

"I do not need gift," he remarks quietly, peevishly.

"But you need a new jumper," she retorts, and Illya has to think for a moment before he makes the synonym connection. He opens the parcel silently. The sweater is just thick enough and sure to be warm, and there is an intricate pattern on the front--diamonds and ropes and braids. It smells very faintly like sheep, not at all like Gabby, and the fabric is just soft enough that there will be nothing to remark about how scratchy wool keeps one from going soft, even though it is mostly a practical garment. The patterning, which he somehow knows is influenced by fishing life, reminds him of a submariner he had met on a three-day mission at a naval academy and immediately etched into his mind.

Gaby rolls her eyes. "Try it on." Grumbling without actual words, he retreats to a sort of alleyway beside the building and exchanges sweaters. It fits well, loose enough for action but skimming Illya's body in a pleasant looking way. 

"Sie sehen schön aus," she remarks, playfully, and plants a quick kiss on his jaw.

Illya ignores the complement and looks instead at the box and thread. "What's that for?" he asks in more idiomatic English.

"Napoleon wanted a mending kit--something about the lining in his jacket--but you know he's not going to get around to buying one. And even if the needles are functional, I haven't found any reason to trust the thread in these things." Gaby eyes him pointedly. "But don't think I'm going to do all your mending, Illya."

"I did not think you would. But perhaps if I need to, you will help with thread? I have never figured out knotting thread, and I think your fingers are much better at getting thread in needle." Illya admits, without entirely knowing why.

"Vielleicht," their Fräulein allows, just as Napoleon Solo returns to his partners. He casually drops a kiss on Gaby's cheek--perhaps they are keeping in practice for those covers which demand a pretended marriage, but they have also explained it away before as Gaby and Napoleon the half-siblings, Illya her fiance or husband.

"Here are your mending things," Gaby tells the American.

"Thanks," says Napoleon, and drops them into his briefcase. "Oh, Peril?"

"Да?" he responds.

"You know those biscuits you liked earlier?" Seeing his confusion, Solo elaborates, "The bread?"

"Yes?" Illya recalls, wondering what is going to come of this.

"Well," hedges Napoleon, "I'll make you some. I extracted the recipe from an old lady."

Gaby frowned at him. "What did you do?"

He grins, "We had tea, and I flattered her, alright?"

So Illya gets two gifts that day: a lovely sweater, and the promise of more of that wonderful bread. (and Solo, even if his tastes tended dreadfully towards decadence, was a competent cook) 

"Hey," Solo says before they leave, "nice sweater, Peril."

"Thanks, Cowboy." he answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Gaby's and Illya's are, hopefully, my second and fourth languages respectively :)
> 
> Sie sehen schön aus. — You(formal) look nice. (...hopefully I've got this right x) )
> 
> Vielleicht — maybe.
> 
> Да (da) — yes
> 
> I am aware that Fräulein is no longer in much if any use, but I have reason to suspect it would be period. 
> 
> Also, while I probably should have researched further, the word "sveater" _exists_ in Russian (it's written свитер, of course, but I don't want to presume knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet), and on that is based Illya's perspective on "jumper." Plus, despite geographical proximity to Britain (or, for that matter, Australia), I figure they might just want a spy speaking passable American English given the era.


End file.
